


she loves cooking shows (but she doesn't have cooking chops)

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Lisa can't cook and Iris attempts to rectify this, she fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 09:11:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5822812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa is innocently draped across a couch in her own home, watching Top Chef, when her girlfriend Iris West rudely informs her that there is no way they are eating Chinese take out again and that every grown up needs to know how to cook their own dinner.</p><p>So Iris tries to teach Lisa to cook, and it fails somewhat less spectacularly than it has in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she loves cooking shows (but she doesn't have cooking chops)

**Author's Note:**

> I avoided all description of the actual cooking process because I, myself, cannot cook
> 
> written for buffyscribbles on tumblr, who was bemoaning the lack of Lisa/Iris on ao3 :)

"Lisa, get up!" Iris calls, and there's a clanking and rustling and the sound of the door being kicked shut behind her as she enters their apartment (and there's still this little thrill in Lisa's stomach whenever she thinks of it that way, but no one is ever allowed to know, especially not Len).

 

Lisa's draped over the couch, one leg tossed across the back and the other stretched along the couch, her head resting on one of the arms. All she does in response is make a noise of annoyance, motion vaguely with one hand to the episode of _Top Chef_ playing.

 

"Up!" Iris calls again, the fridge opening and closing as she bustles about.

 

"It's the new episode!" Lisa complains, but she drags herself to her feet, slouches into the kitchen to help put away the groceries. And then she slows, narrows her eyes at the package of chicken sitting innocently on the stove.

 

"Shouldn't that go in the fridge?" she asks suspiciously. But it's clearly been removed from its grocery bag, settled purposefully in that spot—and there are other things on the countertops to either side, vegetables that clearly Iris has no intentions of putting away, spices that have been taken down from the pantries.

 

Iris glances over her shoulder, catches sight of Lisa gazing distrustfully at the chicken, and there's a sparkle of mischief in her eyes as she says, nonchalantly, "No, that's for tonight."

 

"But Thursdays are my night," Lisa says blankly. Iris cooks from Sunday to Wednesday, and Lisa covers Thursday through Saturday—she's a connoisseur of take out, a mistress of delivery, a—

 

"I am not eating cheap Chinese yet again," Iris says firmly, closing the fridge on the last of the groceries. "So I am going to teach you how to cook."

 

"I know how to cook!" Lisa argues, but she knows as soon as Iris's eyebrows rise that she's losing this battle.

 

"You—" Iris says, jabbing the air pointedly with one finger—"can make incredible pancakes of multiple varieties. And you can garnish them with microwaved turkey bacon and questionable scrambled eggs. That is the extent of your cooking abilities."

 

"I'm a grown ass woman, Iris West, and—"

 

"And as a grown ass woman, you should know how to feed yourself without hitting speed dial number three." Iris sighs, gazes at Lisa with the expression that she normally reserves for whatever particularly dangerous and avoidable thing Barry Allen has chosen to do this week. "And yes, I know you have Domino's on speed dial."

 

Lisa runs a hand through her hair, bites her lip as she tries to think of an argument against this. She's tried to cook before- things other than the famously delicious pancakes that she once (true story) used to talk a guy out of robbing a bank so that the Flash wouldn't have to stop him and Iris wouldn't have to miss date night to interview everyone involved- and it's never gone well.

 

It's mostly gone along the lines of "Len makes her pay him the safety deposit since it's her fault they lost it," in fact.

 

"What if I find a new selection of take-out places to order from," she hedges.

 

Iris just shakes her head slowly. "Grab a pan," she instructs. "I need to get a few more things out of the pantry."

 

Lisa narrows her eyes. Iris narrows hers back, her posture straightening in that way it does right before she uses her words alone to throw someone onto the ground and spit on them, and Lisa deflates. "Yes, ma'am," she sighs, and Iris smiles smugly.

 

"Next time someone fucks up on _Chopped_ , you can make fun of them with full knowledge that you really could have done better," Iris assures her.

 

"You massively underestimate my ability to burn things," Lisa informs her.

 

Iris nudges her with an elbow, that bright smile on her face, the one that makes her eyes go soft and her cheeks dimple. "And you underestimate my ability to get people to do what I want," she teases.

 

"Not that," Lisa says solemnly. "Never that."

 

***

 

Iris stares at the blackened lump of chicken. "I was gone for two minutes," she says blankly.

 

Lisa huffs a strand of hair out of her face, shrugs, and sets the fire extinguisher on the floor. "I told you I have a talent." She jerks her head slightly, drawing Iris's attention to the pot of rice—it boiled over, but the rice itself is fine. "You got further than Lenny did."

 

Iris presses her lips into a thin line, and Lisa feels herself twitch involuntarily, wonders how mad Iris can possibly—

 

Iris doubles over laughing, catching herself on the counter with one hand, the other pressed to her stomach. "Oh my god, Lisa," she wheezes. "We finally found your superpower."

 

Lisa cackles, tilts her head as she considers the chicken. "Mick will be so jealous."

 

"Yeah, you can't tell him," Iris says, a few more giggles escaping as she straightens, brushes a tear off of her cheek from squeezing her eyes too tight. "It'll only break his heart."

 

Lisa reaches out, grabs Iris's arm to tug her in tightly, wraps her arms around Iris's waist. "It's our secret," she agrees, and her grin softens into a smile as Iris settles her head against Lisa's chest and sighs contentedly.

 

"We can probably root around for some leftovers that'll work okay with the rice," she murmurs.

 

"Or we could stick it in the fridge for another day, and I could make pancakes." Lisa nudges Iris's shoulder until she looks up, meets Lisa's mischievous gaze. Lisa winks, whispers, "There's a lot more syrup involved in pancakes."

 

"Oh?" Iris asks, voice perfectly neutral but struggling to beat back a smirk. "And why should I care about that?"

 

"Because," Lisa shifts her arms, gripping Iris's thighs as she lifts her up onto the counter- knocking a little oregano to the side, but who cares?- and presses close. Her lips are close to Iris's, her breath fanning across them, as she finishes teasingly, "the syrup doesn't only need to be used on the pancakes."

 

Iris purses her lips, the motion brushing them just slightly against Lisa's, and hums thoughtfully. "That sounds nice," she says, hands running up Lisa's sides, raking her shirt up slightly as they go—and then she shoves Lisa back, hops down from the counter. She brushes her hair back into place, raises an eyebrow as she points out, "But first we need to open a fucking window in here."

 


End file.
